Just A Kiss
by Christene Cullen
Summary: In their last hours of life together, Enjolras and Grantaire re-evaluate their relationship.


**A/N**: Alrighty guys, I really wanted to work on my characterization of Enjolras and R for my fics in the future, so I wrote this little drabble. Be nice! It's my first really angsty/in depth fic! R & R! I would love some feedback!

He knew it was the end. In fact, from the moment he'd started this endeavor, Enjolras knew he wasn't going to make it. He had prayed for the souls of his friends, but he was unafraid to lose his own life. The worst part wasn't knowing what waited on the other side of that barricade for him – an imminent death – but knowing that he had lead his friends, who had all been blind, directly to the barrel of the guns that would bring them death. It weighed heavy on his soul, and Enjolras could only pray God would forgive him for his sins. The final blows were approaching, the sun was staining the sky bright hues, and soon it would be done.

The revolutionary's fingers absently fiddled and twisted at the hem of his blazer as his hazel eyes scanned the damage that had already been done. Already they'd lost one unfortunate soul, the Thenardier girl whose lifeless body was hidden from view inside of the Musain, and the other students were looking… faithless. They knew too, and Enjolras felt his stomach twisting. His resolve, which had been strong through all of this, was starting to dissipate; but he couldn't let them see that. Instead he stood from where he'd been sitting on the barricade and paced around to the other side of the building. He continued walking when he reached the alley in the back, but he needed a moment to clear his head, to think and to focus.

Only moments before, they had heard the shot that had supposedly killed Inspector Javert. The lack of blood on the cobblestones and the fact that a body wasn't present went unnoticed by the revolution leader. His eyes were hazy as his memories soared far from Paris, back to the place he'd been raised, back to his parents and his sister. They were all probably just waking, maybe making some breakfast and preparing for the day. Would they get a letter soon saying that their only son and brother were dead? Probably. Would they weep for him, though? Would he leave behind a legacy if the majority of his friends were falling with him?

Enjolras didn't regret the lack of women who had been in his life. He'd heard Marius murmuring about his beloved, and if she would miss him should he fall. Enjolras had no one of the sort, no one who would love him and miss him as Cosette might miss Marius. But it didn't hurt him; he'd become numb to all of that as he waited for his death. The minutes seemed like hours as he passed back and forth in the alley, pacing and twisting his curls with pale fingers that were still dirty from the battle. He was still stained with the gun powder, and the smoke seemed permanently captured within his lungs. He could still hear the shouting, feel the gun kick back in his arms in a way that sent a chill down his spine. He wasn't a revolutionary anymore; he'd become a killing machine fighting as hard as physically possible to keep those he loved alive.

The light footsteps hadn't registered until they were right behind him; Enjolras turned swiftly, simultaneously withdrawing a dagger from his side and nearly driving it through the intruder's abdomen. His tense muscles relaxed when he saw who it was: Grantaire. A dull, surprised look flitted across his friend's face but it was evident he was under the hold of alcohol as was usual, something also indicated by the bottle of brandy in his hand. Enjolras's expression hardened as Grantaire approached with his hands held up, palms out, as if to say he meant no harm. They were merely inches apart by the time the intruder of Enjolras's thoughts had stopped walking, and the student fidgeted nervously. He could _feel _Grantaire's breath, weighed down by alcohol, hit him. The brandy smell was strong, and it made the revolution leader want to gag. He held it together though, instead allowing his eyes to meet 'Taire's. Behind those brown orbs, Enjolras could see everything that was coursing through his own brain at present; he could see the fear, and the knowledge that death was coming fast. Instead of acknowledging it, the blonde leaned against the alley wall, which put distance between the two of them. The way Grantaire's gaze was unwavering caught Enjolras off guard, and he wasn't entirely sure why Taire had followed him. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead no words came out; instead, his friend moved more swiftly than Enjolras would have assumed a drunk could.

Instead of words leaving his lips - cold, harsh words that would have attacked Grantaire for his drinking problem - soft, firm lips that tasted of bitter brandy were pressed against Enjolras's own. The blonde's first response was immediately stopped by the shock rushing through his body and hazing his brain. The momentary pause allowed another emotion to enter Enjolras's brain, one he'd never expect from this experience: a tingle of joy that flooded through him, causing his blood to rush and his heart to flutter in a way it never had. But this wasn't ok; why was Grantaire doing this? Enjolras pulled away, his fingers digging into Grantaire's hips to force them apart. He could still taste the brandy that had stained his friend's breath, could still feel the other man's lips ghosting across his own. These were his last few hours of life, was it really such a crime to indulge for once in his life?

Yes. He had to keep focused, keep his mind clear, keep… keep what? His train of thought was being completely diverted by Grantaire who had dropped his bottle; it shattered loudly against the stones of the street, splattering both of their feet with brandy. Enjolras was positive the only time he'd seen a bottle go unfinished by Grantaire was when he passed out half way through. "'Taire, you've had too much," Enjolras scolded softly, his eyes venomous. They had a battle ahead of them, and Grantaire's inebriated state was nothing short of a bad omen. He couldn't believe that Grantaire had allowed himself to get this intoxicated today, but he also, deep down, understood. Sobriety would only make death that much worse, though he didn't want to admit that.

"It's not the brandy, Enjolras." His words were soft, like that of a child who had just been scolded for pinning the blame on someone else. "I… do you really not know?" Grantaire's eyes were glazed over, and all Enjolras could see within them was a deep, ageless sadness that caused his heart to flutter slightly. Was it possible _he _had caused such a sadness within his friend? Enjolras weakly shook his head, causing curls to bounce into his face. If Grantaire had looked distressed before, now he looked absolutely desolate. _Merde_. This was his doing, but Enjolras had no clue as to what he'd done to hurt his friend in such a way. "I assumed you knew and just… pushed it a side but – You really didn't, did you?" Here, a harsh chuckle escaped Grantaire's thin lips. It wasn't a laugh of joy, but more one of irony. All Enjolras could do was watch weakly as Grantaire's world seemed to collapse around him. His shoulders slumped, and for a second Enjolras was sure the only reason the raven locked man was still standing was due to his own hands pressing against Grantaire's waist. Seconds later, the other man's head snapped up and this time Enjolras couldn't read him; all he could really do was focus on the briefest of kisses they'd shared only moments prior. How was it that he was still focusing on that when Grantaire obviously needed help with something deeper?

"I guess if we're to die, I might as well tell you, hmmm?" Grantaire's words were biting and harsh, and Enjolras felt as if he was being assaulted by the words. He kept his expression steady as he waited patiently, his eyes occasionally flickering and betraying his true feelings. Grantaire was his best friend, Enjolras would swear by it. But he'd never thought of him in another way… he'd never noticed the way Grantaire's face echoed his youth, the way his curls fell in a messy tumble around those steel grey eyes that currently had Enjolras captivated. You could tell so much from a person's eyes… so why hadn't he looked into Grantaire's sooner? "Je t'aime, Enjolras. _Merde,_ how could you not notice? I put faith in nothing but you, I… I followed you to hell's gates… and yet still you persist it's the brandy." His harsh laughter caused goose bumps to erupt across Enjolras's skin, and all the pity he'd ever felt towards Grantaire was slowly bubbling up, transforming from a sorrowful distain for his drinking problem into something much sweeter. The new feeling seemed to stick in his chest, caused his heart to palpitate as if it was his first time running in years. Adrenaline rushed through him, causing his blood to quickly flow through him and flush his cheeks. Could this be true? It all made sense now. "I can feel, Enj, I am not dead or heartless; I just…" he floundered, finally showing his softer side as he leaned away from Enjolras looking bashful.

Honestly, his reaction to this surprised Enjolras himself as his hand reached up to the back of Grantaire's neck. He was all of centimeters taller than the brunette, yet Enjolras still tipped Grantaire's head back oh so gently, allowing the other's face to be exposed in the morning sun. After only a second of hesitation, Enjolras pressed his lips back against Grantaire's, completely unsure of what he was doing. Was this love? He knew not. But he could find comfort in the upbeat thrumming of his heart, in how soft Grantaire felt against him. He'd always assumed Grantaire to be hard and made of stone to protect himself from this world. Enjolras was surprised to find it was completely the opposite, and he rather liked that.

It didn't matter that they would be dead in a matter of hours; it didn't matter that just behind them, France was assembling their army to decimate the both of them and wipe these school boys off the face of the earth. What truly mattered was that they would for their cause with no burdens on their shoulders. They would die in the presence of those they loved, and that… well, that was better than living a life without knowing love at all.


End file.
